Devastated
by Pineconeresearchgirl
Summary: Tom thought he'd lost her until he finds her at his door.


"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," his voice was no more than a hushed prayer, eyes full of hurt and shiny with unshed tears, revealing the devastation he felt which was clearly echoed in her own, as he nonetheless extended his hand to her - not imperiously, but in a silent plea.

Her fingers found his before she had a chance to think about the consequences and he wasted no time in pulling her into his flat, pressing her back up against the door as soon as she crossed the threshold, using that momentum to close it behind her as he reached up almost absently to flip the locks while his eyes devoured her precious face, using nothing more than the intimate pressure of his hips against hers to keep her in place as he did so.

Tom's big hands found hers and engulfed them, overwhelmed them, threading those long fingers through her much smaller ones, forcing them to accommodate his size as surely as she knew that he would expect her body to do so elsewhere when he deemed that she had paid the price he was going to exact from her tender flesh for her rebellion. He lifted them slowly to a spot well above her head that almost had her on tiptoes, stretching her nearly to the point of discomfort as he easily transferred control of her wrists to one hand, leaving the other free to explore her body at will.

_His_ will.

In letting him have her like this, she was surrendering so much more than just her body to a man she knew would tease and test her, challenge her limits, and expect her to grow and blossom even within her submission to him, all under those stark, watchful eyes that missed nothing about her or her reactions to what he chose to do to her.

They saw _entirely_ too much.

His free hand followed her natural curves from the top of her head, taking a soft moment to cup her cheek and kiss her gently, in direct contrast to his possessive fingertips, which tweaked and pinched the already turgid nipple he found, his lips swallowing her gasp then kissing their way to her ear.

But this act, in and of itself, wasn't going to be enough for him. He wanted her to say it. He would have her submission from her own mouth and in her own words - nothing else could satisfy him any longer. "Whose are you, Sela?" The low growl set fire to every nerve it encountered, causing a shudder to wrack her body. That bold hand was at her rib cage, then the rounded curve of her hip, slipping behind to grab a bottom cheek, squeezing almost painfully before releasing it for wetter pastures.

It stopped at her waistband, where he simply began to gather the material of her short, loose skirt, slowly exposing more and more of her lower half as she tried to twist and writhe futilely, feeling her face blaze into color as he continued to expose her until he could slip his hand into her panties unencumbered.

When she didn't answer him, he pulled back a little, fingers cupping that which he coveted the most, feeling the heat and dampness of those soft curls and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he was the man who had caused its current flustered, trembling state, as their eyes met and he saw that she was crying.

Tom leaned forward and kissed away the teardrops he found, his lips mingling that saltiness among their lips as he kissed her with exquisite gentleness, deliberately flexing his middle finger at the same time, parting those hidden folds - hidden from everyone in the world but him - quickly, almost roughly inserting it within her welcoming slickness, letting his thumb rest atop her clit, feeling it already trembling beneath his touch.

Packing the single word with calm, quiet warning, he said, "Sela." His patience was exhausted, she knew, and she was already in enough trouble. His head came up from where his lips and tongue and teeth had been worrying her nipples, travelling eagerly from one to the other, so that he could see her eyes when she said it.

Tears leaking silently down her cheeks, she vowed without reservation, "_Yours_, Tom. I am yours," knowing that, with those reverent, exalted, humbling words, she committed every bit of herself to him - to do with as he pleased.

As soon as they were past her lips, he kept her eyes locked with his, that thumb and finger began to move demandingly, the hard, steady thrusts dragging the edge of his thumb over the most sensitive spot on her body - made even more so by his presence within her. Slippery as she was for him, he was able to dance right on top of that exposed nub, not letting up, not slowing down as he often did to delay her gratification, but rather insisting that she respond - giving her no alternative but to do so.

"I want you to cum, Sela. Don't look away from me, my love. Right here, right now. My choice of where and when and how from now on, not yours." Staring straight into her eyes, he rumbled ominously, "You gave up that right to me, didn't you? Just now?"

She was still pretty much fully clothed, but Sela had never felt so vulnerable in her life, eyes wide with desire, physically unable to look away even if he had given her permission to do so.

Her answer was broken and unsteady, like her voice, "Y-yes, Sir."

He almost smiled at that, almost. She saw that the corners of his lips wanted to curve up, but he wouldn't allow it. Instead he dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead, whispering, "Perfect, baby. You are always perfect for me and to me."

She was close, he knew. Over these past few years, he'd come to know her body at least as well as his own, wanting to learn everything about what made her sing with the passion he inspired in her, meticulously cataloguing away what he learned and using it to bring her to even greater heights.

His long, loving kiss was tenderness itself while his hand fucked and flicked her mercilessly. With his face as close to hers as he could get it, their eyes still fixed on each other's, his low rasp threatened, "Don't make me say it again, beloved."

That was all it took. She shook and shivered and tried to wrest her wrists out of his grip, tried to arch against his fingers, seeking more from them, trying to _demand_ more from him. But he settled himself even more firmly against her to prevent that, forcing her to simply stand there and take what he decided to give her, his open mouth poised over hers as he drank in the sounds of her uncontrollable ecstasy, relentlessly propelling her to three more aching, shuddering peaks before he removed his fingers to simply cup her possessively.

Her arms were still anchored above her head when he kissed her again. "Are you all right?" he asked, and she knew what he was asking. He was always worried about hurting her - not that her punishments ever overtly reflected that concern.

Sela could barely rouse herself out of the stupor into which he had delivered her enough to sigh with absolute honesty, "Devastated."

He chuckled softly; she could feel his breath puff against her cheek.

His response was entirely too self-satisfied for her comfort as he swung her into his arms and headed for their bedroom.

"_Good_."


End file.
